


Marked

by lilacSkye



Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Canon, The gold saints have been brought back to life at the end of the Hades saga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 14:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16682989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacSkye/pseuds/lilacSkye
Summary: The fight is over, Milo and Camus have been granted a second chance. But one last issue lingers behind.





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm Skye. I never thought I would find myself drabbling something for my oldest otp, but then I stumbled upon Soul of Gold, and boy oh boy, it plummeted me back into the fandom, and the Camus/Milo pit :') I'm sorry for this short, super indulgent and frankly awful drabble. I'm not a good writer lmao

He feels the other's eyes linger.

It's subtle, but it is there, Camus is certain of it. It is indeed rather curious, he can't help but consider somewhat amusedly, for Milo has never been particularly known for his subtlety; he wears his heart on his sleeve, lets it blaze at the tip of his finger, a cusp of solid fire and starlight able to inflict the most hellish pain just as easily it can bestow the most blissful of pleasure.

He shivers as Milo's finger trails down Camus's bare back, leaving a trail of scorching heat against his skin. He feels the burning question rest on the tip of Milo's tongue, like every other time they shared the bed after a night spent in the flaming throes of passion, but, like every other time, Milo swallows it down in a display of shyness that doesn't belong to him.

Camus lets his eyes flutter close and heaves a sigh.

“Just ask about it, Milo.”

Milo freezes, caught off guard by the fact Camus is still awake in the middle of the night, but soon enough resumes his ministrations, drawing constellations - one in particular - out of the several little scars scattered all over Camus's body like tiny discolored stars seared into his flesh.

“You kept them.”

Unseen by Milo, Camus arches an eyebrow. That is not a question, though he decides he'll be gracious enough to let that issue slide, this time around.

“And?”

The warm weight behind him shifts, and he rolls on his back as Milo moves on top of him and stares down at him, a maelstrom of emotions rampaging behind jade eyes. Under him, Camus sustains his scrutiny without the slightest hint of shame or self-consciousness.

“I'm not going to apologize.” Milo states, the faintest trace of the scorpion's poison tracing his words, hardening his eyes.

“Nor do I wish you to.”

Milo says nothing. A sudden emotion surges up, dries his throat, as his eyes trail down his lover's naked chest, pale porcelain skin made of unforgiving snowstorms and icy currents, wide and strong planes of smooth, lean muscle - firm and solid, and alive, oh so deliciously _alive_ \- unblemished and perfect, were it not for the small, countless burn scars the scorpion's stinger had left behind when it mercilessly pierced the renegade soldier of Hades who had worn his lover's face - or so he had thought, before the traitors’ true intent was revealed, and the tide was turned.

When Athena, in her benevolent glory, had blessed them all with a second life, Milo had thought the last vestiges of their accursed fight would have been finally lost to time, washed away with the divine blood she had selflessly spilled for their sake. But Camus, for some unfathomable reason, had pleaded the merciful goddess, had begged her to let him keep the marks of the scorpion's poisoned stinger. 

Wordlessly, he lowers himself and presses his lips against the scarred stars, kissing at the tender spot, lapping at the rough skin with reverence and adoration. Camus twitches, and Milo glances up in time to meet his eyes, pools of ice which are all too quick to melt to stormy, bottomless dark waters, boiling with unnamed feelings and passion no icy coffin could ever encase. He smirks as he goes further and further down, where the heat is pooling and blood starts boiling.

By the time the dawn finds them, her rosy fingers reaching out through the closed blinders to gently call them to their duty, entire galaxies of red and blue and black are seared into their conjoined, slumbering bodies.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, don't be afraid to leave criticism and take care!! :) :) :)


End file.
